Page 82 of Obscurity
Horrible music still drifted across the campsite from the main stage, and now even that took on sinister implications. Local musicians keeping people distracted while the real work happened underground and in the hidden facilities.
“But why Chloe and Becca?” Jason asked. “If this is just about illegal mining, why target them specifically?”
Olive stared at the photos, her mind racing. “Because they saw too much. Chloe was supposed to create promotional content that made this place look authentic, but she must have learned something she wasn’t supposed to know. And Becca . . .”
“Her friend must have overheard something when she interned for Brad,” Jason finished. “Becca came here to investigate, and someone got suspicious . . .”
The stakes were too high right now for them to mess up, Olive pondered as pressure built between her shoulders.
This was one assignment she couldn’t fail.
“This goes way beyond Brad Kellerman. He can’t be running this.” Certainty grew in Olive’s voice. “He’s just the front man. This kind of operation requires massive funding, government connections, sophisticated equipment.”
Jason nodded. “Someone with serious resources is backing this. Someone who can make people disappear and make mining operations look like music festivals.”
“We need to let Rex and Tevin know.”
“I’ll call Rex with the update.” Jason rose. “You’ve already risked enough.”
“But—”
“No buts. I’ll walk close to Brad’s house and make the call. I’ll be careful. I’ll stop by Tevin’s tent on the way back.”
Olive knew better than to argue. Instead, she nodded.
But the gravity of this situation pressed on her. The people behind this had too much money involved for them to back down without a fight.
And there would be a fight.
But how many people would become collateral damage in the process?
Outside their tent, the music continued—a soundtrack to one of the most elaborate criminal conspiracies Olive had ever encountered.
And somewhere in the darkness, two young women were depending on Olive and Jason to uncover the truth before it was too late—if it wasn’t already.
CHAPTER 60
ELEVEN YEARS AGO, BLUE RIDGE MOUNTAINS, GEORGIA
That night, as Olive’s family and the Hendersons shared a dinner of grilled chicken and potatoes around the campfire, Dad pulled out his leather journal and began sketching detailed maps of their discoveries, documenting every find.
They’d managed to locate several other treasures on their hike before going back to their campsite.
The Hendersons continued to hang on his every word as he explained the historical significance of each artifact, the careful research that had led them to these locations, and the potential value of the main treasure they were still seeking.
“James,” Mr. Henderson started. “I have to ask—would you ever consider taking on investment partners for future expeditions? This seems like exactly the kind of unique opportunity my portfolio has been missing.”
Dad looked surprised, as if the idea had never occurred to him. “Well, I . . . I suppose if I found the right partners, people who really understood the historical significance of this work . . .”
“We’re talking about serious money here, aren’t we?” Mrs. Henderson added. “If these preliminary finds are any indication . . .”
“Conservative estimates suggest we’re looking at mid-six figures for the main cache,” Dad said. “But, of course, treasure hunting always involves risk. I’d never want to take someone’s investment unless they were completely comfortable with the uncertainties involved.”
Olive watched the conversation unfold with growing unease. The Hendersons were intelligent, successful people. But they were also caught up in the excitement of discovery, the romance of hidden treasure, and the compelling narrative her father had constructed around Cornelius Slattery’s fictional fortune.
When the adults moved away from the fire to discuss “business details,” Olive found herself staring at the collection of artifacts spread across Dad’s journal—the compass, old coins, pieces of jewelry that told a story of Confederate gold hidden in Georgia mountains.
In the firelight, everything looked authentic, valuable, historically significant. Just like Dad’s explanations always sounded reasonable until she thought about them too carefully.
